


One of Yours

by SavioBriion



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Post-Book(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavioBriion/pseuds/SavioBriion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PG13, 2007. After the almost-Apocalypse, Crowley takes Aziraphale to a soccer game. Later, they get drunk and argue about whose side invented what. Then they discover something neither Heaven nor Hell can lay claim to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: They belong to Gaiman and Pratchett, not me.
> 
> This was the first Good Omens fanfic I ever wrote.

It was the second afternoon of the rest of their lives, and Aziraphale could think of no better way to spend it that cataloguing his precious books. (1) He was quite looking forward to sorting out the books from the Antichrist, although he didn't think they'd sell very fast; which, naturally, meant that they'd be the ones on display. The angel hadn't however, counted on an unexpected visitor.

Anthony J. Crowley sauntered into the shop, suppressing a hiss as the irritating shop-bell jingled. He couldn't help but wonder why Adam hadn't just conveniently made it disappear (2). The bookshop certainly looked the same, although Crowley was fairly certain Aziraphale hadn't been displaying copies of _Boy's Own_ , not to mention _101 Things You Can Do With Snot_.

"Sorry, we're closed!" the call came from the back. Crowley strolled there to find Aziraphale balanced precariously on a rickety old stepladder, a pile of books in one hand and a ledger in the other. He sneezed, nearly falling off the ladder. Then he saw Crowley, and this time he did fall off the ladder.

"Since when has a 'Closed' sign ever stopped me, angel?" Crowley smirked, as he helped Aziraphale to his feet. The angel dusted himself off primly and straightened his tartan vest, ignoring the twitch of Crowley's fingers; during the previous night's drinking binge, Crowley had ranted about how much he hated Aziraphale's tartan wardrobe and how he kept wanting to miracle it into denim or something of the sort. "Crowley, if you miracle away so much as a thread of tartan – "

"You'll do what, angel? Smite me with a cup of cocoa? Refuse to accompany me?" Behind the sunglasses, yellow eyes glinted in amusement.

"The latter." Aziraphale stated, folding his arms and trying to look stern. (3)

Five minutes later, they were both seated in the gleaming Bentley. Crowley glanced sideways. "Aziraphale, we're going to a football game, not an _I Love Lucy_ convention. Would you change the vest, at least?"

Aziraphale sighed and waved his hand, changing the tartan vest to a grey argyle one. Somehow, Crowley's mocking smile had more effect on him then the melting eyes of a doleful puppy. He stared out of the window as the pavement zoomed by at an unnaturally fast pace, letting the strains of Queen wash over him. What if Adam hadn't averted the Apocalypse? He certainly wouldn't be seated next to a demon in a 1926 Bentley right now, on the way to a soccer game – no, the day before yesterday he'd have been fighting alongside the hordes of Heaven. And by today, whichever side that had been victorious would have won. And there would be no more Crowley. (4)

* * *

(1)Unless, of course, you counted helping little old ladies cross the road.

(2)Come to that, there were a lot of things Crowley wished Adam had made disappear – like telemarketers and traffic wardens, for instance.

(3)It was rather like Crowley trying to look innocent – it just couldn't be done, and the resultant expression was more of constipation.

(4)It felt easier to say 'no more Arrangement' than 'no more Crowley'.

* * *

"Which teams are these again?" Aziraphale asked, shifting uneasily. The crowd stank of alcohol, sweat and other things that made him very glad he didn't have to inhale if he didn't need to. Plus, there was a newly married couple right in front of him being rather… demonstrative. (5) At least, Aziraphale hoped they were married. He wondered miserable if Crowley had brought him here just to annoy him. If so, he was certainly succeeding.

"Manchester United versus Liverpool," Crowley answered, waving away a hotdog vendor. "Personally, I support Manchester United. Aside from the fact that I have a soft spot for Manchester City, the team calls themselves the Red Devils – quite cute, really."

Aziraphale wasn't too sure how to respond – this was the first time he was even watching football – so he settled for leaning back and letting Crowley explain the rules to him. The game started.

Midway through, on of the Manchester United defenders hit the ball away from the goalposts with his forearm. The referee ran forward, blowing his whistle. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as, mid-blow, the whistle disappeared with a tiny puff of smoke. Crowley turned to his companion questioningly. "I didn't do that."

Aziraphale blushed. "I did. I always thought referees were one of yours."

"Really? We always thought they were one of yours," Crowley commented. "Tut, tut, angel, miracles in public? I must be rubbing off on you." Aziraphale didn't say anything.

* * *

(5)Crowley had once claimed to be responsible for having put the 'demon' in 'demonstrative'. Aziraphale had tried not to blush and quickly changed the subject.

* * *

"And that wasss a good game." Crowley slurred, waving his bottle emphatically. "One of our sides' better ideasss."

Aziraphale drank some more wine. "I must say, dear boy, it's rare to find something your side came up with that was so enjoyable for both of us. We really should do it again soon." (6)

Crowley smirked, pointed canines gleaming. "Enjoyable? All thossse people who bet on Liverpool will have losst a lot of money, which fuels Greed and Anger. And people like that couple in front of usss will be plagued by Lussst, and will probably have lotss of fightsss in a few monthsss."

"I said enjoyable for _uss_ – I mean us. Gambling is definitely one of yours. Las Vegas must be Heav – He – Tadfield for you. " The angel peered into his bottle, and then held it upside down. A single drop of wine splashed onto his tongue.

Crowley sniggered. "Gambling wass my idea, but humanss invented Vegass. Our sstuff is sso much more interesting that your ssidess'. Take traffic wardens. Hate their gutss." He gestured viciously, and a houseplant trembled.

Aziraphale glared rather unsteadily. "I told you, dear, I thought those were one of yours. And not all our stuff is boring. Look at – " he glanced around vaguely for a moment, before waving towards the empty white cartons on the table. "It tastes good, it's convenient, it saves time and the fortune cookies make people laugh.'

The demon waggled a finger. He paused, fascinated by the way the finger waggled for a moment, before remembering why he'd been waggling it. "Nonono. One of ourss. Promotess Gluttony and Ssloth." He remembered the layer of oil coating his Szechuan-style chicken. "And eating unhealthily. And the fortune cookiess sometimes make people angry. Blood presssure goes up."

Aziraphale winced. "I do wish you'd stop hissing. Fair enough. Fast food's one of yours. So's alcohol. What about chocolate? 'S often described as a heavenly pleasure."

A predatory grin appeared on the demon's face. "Definitely ourss. It'ss often described ass a ssinful indulgence too. And it'ss addictive. Gluttony. And it'ss often connected to Lusst. Sso you'd better sstart praying for forgivenesss, angel."

Aziraphale blanched, thinking of the amount of chocolate in his little fridge. Surely he wouldn't be punished for indulging in a little chocolate now and then… _But it's not now and then, it's often. And all this while I've been indulging in Gluttony and Lust…_

"Honey'ss definitely one of yours, though. Mentioned in the Bible. 'Land flowing with milk and honey' and all that. And ssilver ssnuffboxess can't be bad. Although I can't ssay the ssame for Wilde." The demon felt rather guilty about the whole chocolate thing. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course. He shouldn't feel guilty about making an angel feel guilty. He was supposed to tempt, after all. He shouldn't brave burning bookstores in order to rescue aforementioned angel, either. But he had.

Aziraphale gazed, unseeingly, into the depths of his sixth bottle. "You can't Fall for things like alcohol, or too much chocolate, can you? Things that promote the Sins? Or for becoming too human?" _Or for liking your Adversary more than you should?_

 _So_ _ **that's**_ _what's been bothering him._ The former Serpent of Eden sat up and moved closer to the former Angel of the Eastern Gate. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or something else entirely. "No," he agreed, "you can't Fall for that. And you won't Fall for this either." And he leaned forward. Aziraphale didn't pull away, as the feelings and desires that had been lurking in the background for millennia finally took centrestage and danced the can-can.

Aziraphale quickly decided that chocolate was now his second favourite flavour. (7) Crowley decided that he'd found something (8) better to do than maintain his Bentley, terrorise houseplants or start LiveJournal flame-wars.

When they finally broke apart, panting (out of habit, since neither needed to breathe, after all), they looked at each other and said together, "One of yours." (9)

After they'd sobered up, however, and experimented further, they concluded that there were some things neither heaven nor hell could lay claim to.

* * *

(6) I know what you're thinking of now, you pervy little thing, and I can assure you he didn't mean that, so get your minds out of the gutter.

(7) No prizes for guessing what his first one now was.

(8) Or rather, someone.

(9) Actually, Crowley said, "One of yoursss." But that's beside the point.

(10) There isn't a tenth footnote! I just wanted to make it a nice round number.


End file.
